


Lost in the Embers

by egreed



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Chaptered, Eventual Relationships, Firefighters, M/M, Other, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:15:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8124892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egreed/pseuds/egreed
Summary: Mako lives a simple life. One minor deviation from his routine has spun everything into chaos.





	1. Birthday

Every day was a hard day at work. Fire-retardant uniforms are heavy and bulky and hotter than the devil's balls. Mako was a go to work, go home, repeat kind of guy, but this was the fifth time his coworkers invited him out for a drink. At this point it felt rude to decline. Besides, he could use a tall glass of something cold right about now.

"Glad yeh decided to join us this time," McCree clapped him on the shoulder. "By the way, if ol' Shimada tries to git you to play darts or billiards with 'em don't put no money on that table. Shameless piss'll rob ya blind."

"Noted," Mako said around a beer.

The air was thick with the miasma of cigarettes and sweat, loneliness, desperation, drunkenness. All sorts of things he'd rather not feel. Zaryanova and Wilhelm engaged in a battle of brawn, biceps bulging. They probably stuck to arm wrestling because having an actual brawl was frowned upon inside the bar. Shimada blued a cue and scouted for his own opponent. 

Mako shifted on the uncomfortable bar stool, feeling out of place. There was a certain camaraderie that came along with their line of work, but he preferred to keep to himself and his simple life. 

"So ya got an old lady at home?" McCree tried to make small talk. 

"No."

"Me neither. Ain't lookin' to hang my boots just yet, ya know?" He continued, taking a large drink. He turned to face the rest of the crew. This time of year there were few fires, so most of their calls were car crashes and house calls. Backup for the ambulance crew. Mako could tell they were still geared up mentally, looking for an outlet to expel what they hadn't needed for the day and grateful that it was a day without loss.

Mako finished his drink and racked up a game of pool. He bet twenty dollars and lost it gracefully. Shimada had him beat in three rounds.

"Come, friend!" Wilhelm pulled him to the table where Zarya had just beat him. "Show us what you've got!"

Mako sat across from her silently. She smirked at him, raising an eyebrow and leaning forward, challenging him. Cracking his neck, he accepted. Wilhelm gave them the count and he strained against the impressive power of his opponent. Gritting his teeth he anchored his elbow and labored at the arm against him. Her haughty smirk turned to a scowl and he could see a bead of sweat forming on the edge of her scar. 

The moment one would gain ground, the other would double their efforts. There was an excited spark in her eyes as she savored the challenge of a new opponent, and Mako felt himself sharing that zeal for an instant as he finally brought his hand down. He had won.

"Nuh uh, I am not a good loser," she said smirking again, throwing her arm on the table. Mako could tell he only enlivened her with the thought of a new obstacle.

"Think I'm heading out for the night. Rain check?" he asked, standing.

"Do not think I will forget," she said smiling a warm smile. She shook his hand and he waved goodbye to the crew. 

The night was a soothing indigo as he rode away. He'd answered several calls for motorcycle accidents, many times being more of a cleanup crew than first response. He had a passion for riding though, and couldn't keep himself off what had become his throne. Filling his deep lungs with the sweet, inky air he reveled in his asphalt kingdom. 

The bar was on the far side of town. Knowing he had a long, leisurely ride home he took the scenic route. It would have been a perfect ending to the day.

Things never go perfectly.

Turning a corner, a flickering light that didn't belong embered in the distance. There weren't any controlled burns scheduled, and without the blessing of rain in months there was a burn ban in effect. His radio hadn't gone off, and this was easily within his jurisdiction.

"Shit," he muttered to himself, pushing his bike faster than he should have.

With the size of the blaze the trailer must have been burning for a while. He didn't have time to ask the neighbors why they hadn't called this in. He didn't have the gear for this, but couldn't wait for his crew if anyone was inside. This day went without loss so far, and he wasn't about to let that change.

Hearing a hacking cough from inside Mako rushed in.

The sudden rush of oxygen fed the flames, but the trailer was small enough that the person inside was immediately spotted. Smoke dug its stinging fingers into his lungs and the hellish heat inside threatened to bake him alive. Heaving the limp body over his shoulder he stumbled outside.

The air outside was frigid after what he'd left behind. Once he had dragged the body to a safe distance he checked for a pulse.

No...no not today! No!

He began chest compression, counting out loud. Thirty. No breath. He wasn't going to lose anyone. Not today. Tilting the head and lifting the chin of the man below him he gave him one breath, two. Nothing. Compressions, counting more desperately this time, breath, breath. 

"Breathe god dammit!" he screamed, saying fuck all to counting. One breath, he inhaled to give another and the man coughed right in his face.

"Good, good," he said, patting the face of the blond man below. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

"An...angel--hak!" he choked on his words, surrendering to a coughing fit.

"Shut the fuck up. Breathe. In...out." Mako instructed. The man was delirious, head swimming. Tears were running down his face, leaving sticky tracks. There weren't any cars around, and not a soul to be seen. Shit. Shit shit shit. 

He hoisted the scrawny man onto his motorcycle, holding him in place. A prosthetic limb fell off in the process. Fuck it. This was already going to be a dangerous ride, no need to worry about a loose arm flying through somebody's windshield. 

Ripping through the streets he hauled the blubbering mess to the hospital. The staff recognized him and he barked the orders he would have on the job. 

Mako wanted to go home and soak this day out of his tired skin. He wanted to settle into bed, no blanket, and let the silence fill his ears as he drifted to sleep. He wanted his dark, dreamless sleep to close a perfect day. 

What he did not want was to throw up in the bathroom down the hall, or to hear Dr. dos Santos tell him that the man he'd saved wanted to speak with him. He did not want to file the paperwork. He did not want to look at the clock and realize he'd been there all night and that his shift started soon. 

But he also didn't want to lose anybody that day, and he hadn't.


	2. Angels Dress in Leather?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only just begun, but what has been unraveled cannot be undone.

The club was old as hell, dirtier than a one eyed snake, and falling apart. Not to mention a fire hazard and less than honorable in business practices. Just the way Jamison liked it. The music was loud enough to fill the emptiness he felt, even if just for a moment, and the bar keep--a massive, well-styled man that went by Winston--had drink mixing down to a science.

With Winston you never knew what the actual name of your drink was. Not if you were a regular, anyway. If he knew you well enough, he knew what you wanted better than you did.

"One 'Dance it Out' with lime," he slid Jamison a pretty glass of something colorful and likely double strength.

"Thaaanks mate," Jamison slurred. Mostly for show. His "Third Weekend in a Row" hadn't been enough to give him more than a buzz. Whatever was in a "Dance it Out" hit the back of his throat just right. Hot and sweet. It made the colors and sounds blend all into one musky dream. Lids fluttering, amber eyes sparkling, he felt his body giving itself to the beat.

It wasn't long before a dancing partner twirled beside him. He didn't have the rhythm in him, but he was good at faking it. Inches away but never touching, the boy tried to smoulder, but there was no fire inside.

Leaning in close, heavy lidded, he said, "We should get to know each other. Biblically."

"This is my church, mate," Jamison breezed, "But angels dress in leather."

His dance partner gave him a confused look before shrugging and sauntering to the next throw. He wasn't even close to Jamison's type, but the "Dance it Out" blurred his edge enough to enjoy himself anyway.

In the darkness and din it was easy to hide himself, lose himself, forget. But only until his drink wore off, and it was only a matter of time before the "Vanilla Boys" and "Goddess Tears" just meant Winston cut him off but couldn't bring himself to call a drink by name.

 

The moon was full, a pale, impassive beacon. He couldn't stand the openness of it, like it was watching him. Staring at him like people did when he came to the light. Windows blacked out, door locked, alone in the silence he started the bath. Magnesium chloride soothed his ache, sodium chloride mixing in the steamy waters. His face crumpled and his heart withered.  
Settling beneath the blanket he dripped into a cold, empty sleep.

 

He woke up.

His nightmares sometimes woke him breathless and scared. He clutched his chest, dizzy. He couldn't remember having the nightmare that time. He couldn't wind down. Couldn't breathe. Head swimming. No matter how many times he brought air in he couldn't catch his breath. Disoriented, he realized he smelled smoke.

Leg. I need the leg...

With clumsy fingers he assembled his prosthesis and stumbled out of his bedroom. Blistering heat slapped his face and he tumbled to the floor, hitting his head hard. The heat was too much. So hot, suffocating. And then blackness. And then nothingness.

 

Nothingness started to feel like shit. His chest hurt. Something made his body move and his raw, seared windpipe exploded in pain. Drifting between waves of pain and back into the nothingness his eyes focused on something for a moment and then it was gone.

He saw a man too big to be a man, wearing a leather jacket. It was a fucking angel. An angel slapping his face around and shouting expletives. This was Jamison's kind of angel.

He felt himself moving. Was this what it was like to go to heaven? Where was the singing and light and love? Made sense he'd be going to the other place. He just figured he had a little more time before he had to make his way there.

Ripping through the gates of hell, he heard the angel's voice booming. It tore through the the air like a crack of lightning and the roll of thunder and all the bombs in all the wars there ever were all rolled into one. When it stopped Jamison felt a cold sadness settle into his chest, but only for a moment as the chaos and cacophony took him under. 

 

Jamison was definitely awake now and it hurt like a bitch. A doctor fussed over him. Head lolloping he felt tubes on his face and tried to pull at them, but was too weak to lift his arm.

"Whoa whoa, let's leave that there. This is gonna make you feel better." The doctor readjusted the tube delivering oxygen to Jamison's nose. His compassionate brown eyes swept over Jamison's face before returning to the clipboard in his hand. 

"How..." Jamison rasped. His throat hurt and his mouth was dry. He coughed and lights flickered behind his eyes.

"Mr. Rutledge brought you here, you're in the hospital." The doctor explained slowly to Jamison's smoke-drunk brain, shaken not stirred. "There are no burns, but you inhaled a lot of smoke. A little time with the nasal cannula, some cable TV, and you should be out of here soon. We just need to keep an eye on you for a while to make sure you're okay." The kind doctor patted his shoulder gently, wearing a warm smile.

Jamison nodded, tears pricking his irritated eyes. Looking around the room, he saw his leg tucked away while he was in bed. 

"Arm?" he choked. 

"You weren't wearing it when Mr. Rutledge brought you here," the doctor returned with a hospital special jumbo jug of water. 

"I need it. Where is it? That thing's expensive!" Jamison's outburst earned him a coughing fit that ripped through his raw throat.

"Hey, hey, calm down. Deep breaths here. I'm going to go get him for you, okay? It's going to be alright. I'll be right back."

After the doctor left Jamison scowled and struggled to pull the itchy hospital blanket up to his chin. It was bad enough that this place was so bright and open. They didn't have to put him on display.

Taking long drinks of water he waited, but the doctor came back alone.

"I'm sorry sir, but Mr. Rutledge had to leave. He did wait in the waiting room through the night though. He wanted to make sure you were okay. Get some rest. I'll see if he'll come by to talk to you later. Right now it's time to heal up."

Jamison nodded silently and pretended to go to sleep. Behind his blackened lids he tallied expenses. This was a right costly mess he'd gotten himself into.

 

Every day was a hard day at work. It was physically exhausting, mentally taxing, and dangerous. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't slept at all the night before.

Still, this was the first year he made it through that day without losing anyone. He had finally done it. Rubbing the sting of sleeplessness out of his eyes, he greeted Ms. Vaswani, their fire dispatcher. At her tidy desk she kept their station running smoothly, giving out precise and efficient orders and directions.

"Aleksandra, you know my rules on rough housing inside the station," she chastised Zaryanova, who had Wilhelm in a full Nelson. Ms. Vaswani hadn't even needed to look behind her to know who was being disorderly. She took a long drink of coffee.

"Oh, I'll feel that in the morning," Wilhelm griped, rolling his shoulders. Mako appreciated her youth and drive, but when she wasn't fighting fires she was always up to something. Weightlifting, wrestling, rough housing. She was endless in energy and determination. Not to mention a brick shithouse of a woman with rippling muscles bigger than Ms. Vaswani's face.

Mako knew she loved her job, but god damn he was getting old and needed to take a breather once in a while. 

McCree and Shimada came in behind him. The day crew was all there now. Mako's skin prickled in anxious anticipation. It was only a matter of time before they got called in to another disaster. 

The phone rang.


	3. Partners in Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mutual leverage is a great way to make friends.

Twenty four hour shifts were hell on a busy day. Tired to his bones, Mako relished in the cold shower. Car crash after car crash, heat strokes and inspections. Sirens. All day. He'd go straight to his room if he wasn't so damned hungry. He couldn't even think straight after the whirlwind day of chaos and disaster.

McCree toiled over a pot of chili. It was his night to make dinner, to feed the crew. The scent of onions and spices and cooking meat all hung in the air, melding into one heady aroma. Zarya sat at the table shaking a blender cup of strawberry protein. 

"Satya, tell this woman beans is protein so she'll eat my damned chili!" McCree hollered to Ms. Vaswani. Zarya held strict to her diet, never eating what the rest of the crew ate unless it adhered to her macros. 

"If Aleksandra wishes to stick to her diet, this is her choice Jesse." Ms. Vaswani was just as tired as the rest of them. Being a fire dispatcher was more than just sitting around taking emergency calls, and her patience was wearing thin.

"Besides, I already have plenty of protein," Zarya snapped at him, rinsing her empty blender bottle. "I need more fat."

Mako sat at the table silently, trying not to pass out in his chili. Shimada joined them in the kitchen, fresh as spring rain, followed by Wilhelm who was wearing his years in bags under his eyes. After the exhausting day they shared, tension crackled in the air like an approaching thunderstorm. Mako let it run its course. It would blow over soon enough. Everyone was just tired after a long day, no need to stir the pot.

"Ketosis is superior for blood sugar control,"Zarya said around a frozen fat bomb. "Can't be getting hungry in the middle of an emergency."

"Yeah, well if I kick the bucket tomorrow, 'd rather have a belly full of chili than liquid food," McCree hunched himself over his bowl. Eyebrows furrowed, he scowled at his chili. He didn't see Shimada rolling his eyes at him.

"Friends! Let us be grateful for this opportunity to sit and eat!" Wilhelm powered through cheerfully, even though he looked as tired as Mako felt. His fatherly tendencies normally diffused tiffs like this, but McCree was obviously still sour. 

Clapping her hands clean, Zarya stretched and ambled to the common room, allotting time to digest before going to sleep. Rinsing his bowl, Mako went straight to his room. She may have the willpower to stay awake, but he was seconds from falling asleep at the sink.

Settling himself into bed like silt from a river, Mako once more entered a dark, dreamless sleep. He was so tired he didn't stir when Wilhelm joined him minutes later, taking to the cot across the room.

 

Jamison's skin itched, antsy to leave. The doctor told him it was possible for significant symptoms of smoke inhalation to arise as late as 36 hours after exposure. He was stuck here for two full days.

Not that anyone would miss him.

It was nice, though, to get away from the trailer. He couldn't let himself think like that and shook the hope out of his head like loose change. 'Not nice. Expensive. Expensive and risky.'

The doc just said he'd use the nose tube and watch tv. He conveniently forgot to mention the "occasional chest x-rays" that had to cost a fortune. He was under some hypocritic oath to keep Jamison alive at all costs, even if the debt was going to drown him more slowly and painfully than if he'd just let Jamison's lungs fill up and send him down the highway to hell.

And then there was the mystery man Jamison never even met, that saved his sorry ass out of nowhere. Mr. Ruthless, or something like that. He couldn't remember much from the delirium of breathing death, but one moment was seared behind his eyes. The more he thought about it the hazier it got, the less he believed he'd actually seen it. 

Whoever this Mr. Ruthless was, Jamison had a bone to pick with him.

 

Mako was sore as hell, but morning came and the station was blessedly quiet. Only two night calls had to be some kind of record. He was technically off for the next 48 hours, but one of those days was already allotted for training and testing. Days off more or less just meant he wasn't expected at the heart of disaster.

The rest of the crew woke, shuffling in to the kitchen where Mako had already started on breakfast. Their shift ended at eight that morning, but there was still a good two hours in the meantime. There was a chance that a wreck during the morning commute would spoil his plan, but leaving the station for the day on a good note was worth the risk. 

Three eggs over easy for Wilhelm with toast and orange juice. Shimada and McCree had two sunny side up each with sausage Mako had thrown in the microwave. Two cups of black coffee. He made for Zarya eggs scrambled in whole milk with sharp cheddar and spinach, extra salt. If anyone was still in a bad mood after this he was going to throw them out the window.

Eating, wiping sleep from their eyes the team closed their shift smiling. Mako may not be the most talkative or outgoing, but in the end his team was still his family. They watched his back and he watched theirs. 

That didn't mean he wasn't ready to get the hell back to his house and finally relax. The next crew came in and he slipped out silently, waving good bye over his shoulder without looking. He took a deep breath of the morning air as he made his way home, but the sound of the motor set something buzzing in the back of his head. 

Fucking hell.

He tore past the bar, down the scenic route he'd followed and to the trailer park. He'd been so obsessed with making sure that man made it through the night he didn't fucking call in the fire. Nothing sounded over the radio about it. It went undocumented.

Kicking up gravel, he saw the trailer had completely burnt down. Between the barren, lifeless scenery around it and the gravel and dead dirt, the fire hadn't spread to any of the other trailers, but there wasn't any thing left but a prosthetic arm from him lugging the unconscious man onto his motorcycle. 

He loaded the limb into a saddle bag and sped to the hospital once again, anxious nausea and cold fear warring inside his stomach.

 

Mr. Ruthless, it seems, had a bone to pick with him, too.

"Hello hello!" the doctor poked his head in cheerfully. "Mr. Rutledge is here to see you!" Sweeping the door open, a man three times his size was awkwardly holding Jamison's arm. 

"Can I, uh, get a moment?" the biggest damn voice Jamison ever heard rumbled through the room. The ever smiling Dr. dos Santos left them to their devices. 

This had to be the biggest mother fucker Jamison ever laid eyes on. And he was still wearing that leather jacket. Jamison could feel his blood pressure rising.

"Thanks for, eh, bringin' that," he started stiffly. "How bad is it?"

"The house is gone," Mr. Ruthless said, pursing his lips, not making eye contact. 

"Well shit," Jamison muttered. "So what happened, anyway?"

"Saw the fire from the road, pulled you out and brought you here." Mr. Ruthless seemed like a short and sweet kind of guy. Not too wordy. There was something behind his eyes that Jamison couldn't quite place, though. 

"Thanks for pullin' me out of that mess, mate. From the sounds of it I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. How'd you get me here anyway?"

"I uh, I'm actually a fireman. Trained EMT." Jamison't heart dropped. 

"Oh, so you're just here for the check then, eh? Good luck collecting, I'm a flat broke fucking squatter so you might as well call up your copper buddies and lock me up." He was seething. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse. 

 

Everything was going all wrong. First of all, when Satya found out about this she was going to shit a chicken. Now, having finally met the one person he'd managed to save on that cursed day, the singed man thought he was going to turn him in to the police. He must not have realized Mako would probably lose his job for not calling in that fire.

"I won't call the police on you," he started, interrupted by the small man.

"What, you mean they don't already know? You said the place burned down." He was wearing a nasty look on his face. Something between scared and angry. Hurt and betrayed. His blond hair was a mess and he began to run his hand through it, pulling at it anxiously.

"Not exactly..." Mako trailed off. The man's face softened into wary suspicion. "I was off the clock when I drove up. Brought you here and was more worried about making sure you made it than calling it in. The department doesn't know about it."

"What do you care if I made it through the night? I ain't your problem."

"It was my birthday," Mako shrugged. "I didn't want to lose somebody again." 

The man in the bed was quiet for a long moment, mulling over what Mako told him. He took a deep, shaking breath and coughed. Feeling awkward, Mako hunkered into the hard hospital chair. 

"So if ya ain't callin' the cops on me, ya still ain't called this in, what are you doing here?"

"I...just wanted to make sure you were okay. What are you going to do from here?"

"Drown in debt, probably. Go back to my lot and try not to get arrested. Live day to day, die alone. You?" A deep, rotting sickness wallowed in Mako's gut. As soon as he phoned this in, this sad man would lose what little he had left. Thinking about it pricked at his heart, made his throat swell. This isn't what he signed up for. He wanted to help people. 

He got a crazy, horrible idea.

"How long have you been squatting?" He already hated his idea.

"I'm a good year from ownin' it proper." It was so close. This is a bad, stupid, horrible idea and now he couldn't let it go.

"As far as law goes, land use is favored over disuse. You got a year. Put a house on that lot and you'll be the owner of that property."

"Hate to break it to you, mate, but I already told ya I'm flat broke. You're wastin' your time. Besides, what's gonna keep you from changin' your mind and turning me in?" Now he looked more confused than anything, but Mako could see relief welling in his golden eyes. He couldn't fully explain his conviction to help this stranger. Maybe sentiment was getting to him. 

"I'll lose my job for not reporting the fire. You have just as much leverage over me as I do over you. I'll help you get something livable built there."

Eyes glowing, wearing a smile somewhere between sly and sinister, the man chuckled at him.

"I guess that makes us partners in crime?"


	4. Set Into Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first domino.

“Partners in crime?”

Mako stared at the ceiling, so worn out he felt like he was on the verge of death. Those words swirled and spun in his brain like a tornado, dumping wave after wave of adrenalin into his hot blood. How could everything be so different from one day? One change in his routine?

He replayed the night in his head like an old movie. McCree invited him to the bar for some drinks to wind down after their work-mandated physical testing. Although he wasn’t on any of the emergency calls, he heard the other crew’s fatigued praises to each other about it being a good day, busy but nothing severe.

He made it to about eleven that night without seeing death on his birthday for the first time in so many years he’d stopped counting. Memories of each one flashed in his brain, leading up to the blond man. Jamison, his name was.

Jamison was something else. Wiry and wild. Unpredictable. Mako’s insides twisted thinking about it, but at the same time he couldn’t help but want to help Jamison. Between cashing in favors offered to him by the community and his knowledge from previous vocations, building a house wasn’t the hard part.

It was not getting caught.

This was some shady shit he’d gotten himself into, but he couldn’t bring himself to report what he found. He didn’t know the full details of Jamison’s living situation, but it was obvious he was doing what he had to to survive. People didn’t choose to fall on hard times, and punishing them for situations outside of their control was cruel. 

Or was that what he told himself because he was afraid of losing his job?

No, no that couldn’t be it. As they discussed details in the privacy of Jamison’s room, he’d seen him full of cautious hope. Excitement even, as made apparent by the heart monitor. That was why Mako became a firefighter. To help people. To see them out of situations they couldn’t escape themselves.

Turning over again he shoved the thoughts and worries and fear deep down, too far to feel at least until he woke up.

 

Eyes wide, Jamison counted the ceiling tiles again. They’d release him tomorrow if nothing came up. Left fingers fiddling with the edge of the scratchy hospital blanket, he considered the future. For once, things were looking up.

Especially since Mr. Ruthless was going to make himself a recurring character. Just thinking about it set that annoying, embarrassing beeping in his ear dancing. Fuck that heart monitor. Fuck it to hell.

Pursing his lips, Jamison tried to stop thinking about it for a damn second. Tried not to think of the massive man lugging six people out of a burning building all at once, piled on his wide shoulders. Tried not to think of him spraying the fire hose, held in those big hands like it was nothing. 

This was going to be a long day. 

Tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, he gave himself a moment to hope that it’d be a long couple of months.

 

Organizing her supplements, Aleksandra popped tablets and capsules and soft gels into her pill chest. Multivitamin, fish oil, b complex, check. Rattling the bottle, she remembered she was low on her energy supplement. She hadn’t factored a trip to the store in her schedule, and it was going to delay food prep by a good hour.

Sighing, she grabbed her keys. Might as well get more groceries while she was at it. 

Just like always, the grocery store was loud, chaotic, and busy. Precarious displays of canned food threatened to collapse on top of her, and unruly children zipped up and down the aisles, shrieking. Underpaid, unenthused workers slouched over stocking carts. She preferred to shop in the evenings, but thinking about running out of her supplements put her on edge and made it hard to concentrate on anything else. 

She cocked her eyebrow at a stocky girl wearing a penguin ball cap and hauling two carts of milk and cream across the store. Who needed all that milk to themselves? 

Going over her list, Aleksandra left the supplements to get her grocery items. Finally, it was almost done and she could get back to getting everything cooked and partitioned. Agitation twitched at her eyelid as she made her way to the dairy section. The cream was out. Penguin girl must have bought the last of it.

Running a hand through her hair, she recalculated for the trip to the next store. She could feel her eyebrows crinkling as she added up the hours and minutes it would take to get everything done. With the unpredictability of work, she had to make sure everything was planned and sectioned and organized in the down time. Meal prep, macro calculation, supplements…

“Finding everything alright today ma’am?” an employee interrupted her thoughts and she realized she was fretting in the middle of the aisle. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

 

The smell of cooking meats and reducing creams was thick in the air. There was something comforting in perfectly proportioned macros, not a gram of carbs out of place. Aleksandra’s smile broke a little, thinking about the chili from last night. It smelled great, sure, but it also would have thrown her out of ketosis without a doubt. 

Going over her meal schedule again, counting and recounting, she could finally settle and breathe. Everything was planned. Everything was perfect. 

 

Jesse McCree was a man of many talents, but settling down was not one of them. Taking a long drag on his cigar, he pretended to mull over the question.

“Nah, I don’t think havin’ kids is the life for me.” He pretended not to see the disappointment behind her eyes. Her hand resumed tracing lazy circles on his chest.

“I think it’d be nice. Fulfilling, you know?” 

No, he didn’t. That was the point. This is how all the endings began. She’d start talking about forever words and marriage and children, taking herself too seriously. Taking them too seriously, breaking out the ball and chain when Jessie just wanted to have a good time and relax. 

“I better hit that dusty trail,” he said, slithering out of the stifling sheets. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to remember where he’d thrown his shirt. And his pants. And his boots.

‘Damn,’ he thought, ‘we turned this room into a battlefield. How’d that even get up there?’ He plucked his hat off the ceiling fan. She had her arms crossed, eyes downcast, but he couldn’t stick around and pretend to want the life she was painting for him. 

“You could stay the night here, you know.” Boy howdy she was laying it on thick.

“I got a shift tomorrow. Need to get some rest.” 

He trudged into his boots and slid out, locking the door handle before closing it softly. Feeling the wind brushing his hair off his neck, the silence of the night settled into his bones. He felt antsy, like he had to go somewhere, go do something, but he really did need to rest for work tomorrow, and with another twenty four hours of busting his ass ahead of him he should have gone to sleep hours ago.

 

‘Gang’s all here,’ he thought scanning the station. Satya was there before anyone else, as usual, getting everything ready and how she liked it. Zarya was lugging a damn suitcase sized lunchbox full of who knows what to the kitchen, drinking on some blender-bottle-mystery-breakfast soup. 

Hanzo was quietly sipping a coffee in the common room, reading. His quick, intelligent eyes brushing over the paper like a paintbrush. Plopping beside him, Jesse scrolled through the morning news on his phone. 

“Think it’s about time for another bar night. You in?” 

“You’re going to grow into a fat old man if you keep drinking so often,” Hanzo said without looking up from his book.

“Is that a no?”

“Of course not. I have a new pool buddy.” Hanzo looked up, eyeing Mako slyly. 

“Can’t,” the big guy grunted, making his way to his room and scowling at his phone. His shoulders were hunched up, face crinkled. That was the face of a man that needed to relax.

“Aww come one. Ya only came once! You need ta live a little,” Jesse pushed. He’d finally gotten Mako to open up last time. Kind of. Ever since the massive man had transferred to their station, he’d been something of a loner. 

“I’ll think about it,” Mako said from the hallway and closed the door to his room. 

“We’re having pub-ed today,” Satya started, “Ms. Amari’s class will be arriving at the station in a few hours. Do try to watch your language, Jesse.” She gave him a sideways glance, a warning.

“I don’t know what in the hell you mean, Satya. I’m a damn angel,” he pushed his luck. It was early enough in the shift to tease her a little. His mile-wide grin cracked, interrupted by Hanzo smacking the back of his head with his book. 

At least these kids wouldn’t be his responsibility. Reinhardt would teach them about stop drop and roll, Hanzo would go over the medical kits, Satya would talk about future careers. He just had to drive the truck and honk the horn. Play the siren. It was going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait for this one! Between my full time job and several side projects updating is slow goings, but thanks for sticking in there! I'll be working on the next chapter soon!


	5. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie's gone down the rabbit hole.

Dr. dos Santos was a nice guy, but Jamison didn’t feel any guilt in distracting him with asking where to find Mr. Ruthless instead of getting payment settled. He knew his silver tongue couldn’t get him out of medical bills, but he’d bought himself some time.

If only he could buy himself a damn taxi.

Skulking down the sidewalk Jamison scurried away from the hospital. His compulsion to check the vending machines for loose coins scored him enough change to make one phone call. Who needs a taxi when you’re riding in style with The Diva?

“Winky face!” Over the top, as always. Who even answers an unknown number like that?

“Diva, it’s Jamison. I need a quick favor.” He knew he didn’t have a lot of time. “I’ll be at the statue in front of the hospital. Explain later.”

“The what? Why are you there? Did something happen?” Jamison heard a deep voice in the background and Diva explaining who it was while he tried to shout over it. 

“Look just get here,” Jamison’s voice squeaked as The Diva finally came back to the phone. “I’ll do yer makeup for the shows for two months. For free. Please. I just nee—“

The phone cut off. 

 

Jamison sat on the base of the statue hunched over and pulling at his hair. Two quick honks broke his trance. Looking up, he saw a white and pink van with rabbit ears and the Rabbit Hole’s logo. The Diva was driving the gaudy van that marked the entrance to the club in broad daylight.

The side door slid open and Winston jumped out with fluid grace. What was he doing here?

“Jamison! What happened?” Winston threw his arms around Jamison before he could even react. In the light Winston looked exhausted. Jamison could see dark, tired circles under his eyes and worry lines on his forehead. Small details the dark of the club probably smoothed over. 

Everything was happening so fast and he didn’t know what to do or how to feel. Jamison’s face started crinkling, eyes stinging, throat closing. The events of the last few days came crashing in on him as he remembered. 

He tried to shut himself down before he lost control. Slithering out of Winston’s hug and into the van he muttered, “I’ll explain later.” Behind him, Winston wilted.

The interior of the van was purple and pink. The seat was cushy. Nothing like Jamison expected from a van that sat in front of a club for advertisement. It almost felt like a dream. Nothing around him seemed real. The colors were so saturated, like they were painted on over reality.

“I din’t even know this thing ran, Diva,” he said, running his hand over the velvety armrest.

“Jamie! I’m offended,” she fluttered her eyelashes, clutching her pearls. “I’m a great mechanic. Who do you think builds MechaQueen’s costumes?” 

“Erm…” He looked to Winston for answers. 

“I just paint them,” he said, holding up his hands. 

“So, where we goin’ Jamie?” Diva asked, putting the van into gear. “You’re explaining on the way. Ooh, and we’re getting lunch.” 

“Fire station offa Melborne,” Jamison scratched his head, hoping he remembered correctly. His vision darkened around the edges. It felt like a scream was trapped in his chest. Without windows in the back part of the van, Jamison couldn’t see outside and it shot sparks of anxiety down his spine.

“What are we going to a fire station for Jamie? You gonna dance for them big boys on the fire pole?” Diva teased, wiggling her eyebrows at him in the rearview mirror.

“Not quite…” he trailed off, struggling to catch his breath quietly.

“For god’s sake, Diva, we picked him up at a hospital!” Winston threw at her, fretting at his seatbelt. 

“Oh SHIT!” she screeched, slamming on the breaks. Cars honked and swerved around the van. 

 

Jamison was having a panic attack. 

“Diva you’re obstructing traffic!” Winston shouted, worrying over Jamison, trying to calm him down. He felt like it was his fault somehow. He usually knew when to cut Jamison off, but maybe he lost track of the drinks that night? 

She drove on, stringing profuse apologies at the mirror, but they didn’t reach Jamie. Unbuckling his seatbelt, Winston put a hand on her shoulder.

“I need you to drive right now. Slow and careful. We’ll try talking to him when he’s had a chance to calm down, but right now I need you to focus on the road. Let’s go back to my place.” 

She nodded, looking forward. Settling himself on the spacious floor of the van, Winston sat closer to Jamison.

“Jamie, things might be looking bad right now, but I’m going to help you, okay? You can stay at my place. I’ve got plenty of room. It’s nice and quiet. Okay?”

Jamison’s rigid frame relaxed a little, but he didn’t respond. 

 

“Diva, could you go in ahead of us? I don’t think any…ah…unexpected noises are going to be very helpful right now.”

“Roger!” she said, slipping out of the van.

“Jamie? If you want to go to my room for a while that’s okay,” Winston said, turning back to Jamison. Diva and I will go get some food so you can have some peace and quiet.”

The worst of Jamison’s episode was over, but Winston knew how embarrassing it could be to have a moment of emotional vulnerability around friends. He was trying to be gentle and supportive, but he’d never seen this side of Jamison. He didn’t know what Jamie needed. 

Rubbing his face and sighing deeply through his nose, Jamison nodded. 

 

“Of course I feel like it’s my fault, Diva!” Winston sighed over his food. 

“Winston. Accidents happen. If you thought he was good to drive he was definitely fine by the time he got home. There’s no way it was your fault! You can’t blame yourself for everything all the time.” 

It didn’t matter if she had a point. It didn’t even matter if she was right or not. Winston felt nothing but guilt wallowing deep in his gut. Before he could change the subject the food they ordered for Jamie came out. 

“Better hurry back,” Winston said, grabbing the takeout bag. “Don’t want this to get cold.”

 

Jamison stared at the ceiling. Winston’s room, an alcove cropped out of a wall in the studio apartment, felt strange. He’d never been to Winston’s place before--only seen him at the club when he was there to party or help the performers. Strange equipment he couldn’t recognize littered the walls, hooked up to speakers. 

Getting up to turn on the light, Jamison searched for a switch. He turned the dial, but instead of illumination, the room was filled with sound. He tilted his head, and the notes seemed to follow him. Looking around at the speakers, they played back to him each time he found a new one in a quiet, subtle harmony. 

He heard a car door and looked out the window. The sounds distorted a little as his head dipped behind the curtain. Winston and Diva were back. 

The door swept open and the sounds jumbled more. Winston scurried to the knob and switched it off as several tunes melded into cacophony.

“I’m sorry! I tried to turn on tha lights an’ the room started singin’ at me! Ah…wha?”

Winston didn’t look mad. Jamison didn’t know what exactly he had activated, but in Winston’s eyes shone the brilliant radiance of excitement. 

“It’s a little something I’m working on. Actually, it’s kind of my dream. But it’s only made for one person to use at a time. Diva’s helping me,” he began to ramble as he handed Jamison a plastic bag. 

“But what is it?” Jamison said, cocking an eyebrow and gingerly taking the bag.

“That’s lunch,” Winston said, pointing to the warm box of takeout. “But this…this is easier to show than explain,” he waved his open palms to the speakers. The wild grin he wore confused Jamison, but whatever it was Winston was working on must have been extravagant. 

“Well show him, dummy!” Diva said, corralling Jamison back to the alcove. She sat on Winston’s bed cross-legged and pat the bed, signaling Jamison to sit. 

Balancing the box on his legs as he sat, Jamison whispered, “Thanks for the food, Diva.” After the bland hospital food, he welcomed anything with a semblance of flavor.

Turning the knob on the wall, Winston slipped his shoes off and brought himself to the middle of the room. The noises from the speakers tinkled down in soft spurts, quieting as he held still.

As Winston exploded into motion, so did the music. It followed him. He danced in dramatic heaves and fluid sweeps, and the sound seemed to come from him. High pitched, angelic tones kissed the air, commanded by his body. When he leapt across the room, toes perfectly pointed, the dramatic shrill followed him like a pining lover. 

Jamison dropped his plastic fork in the fried rice, jaw slack. Winston was a beautiful dancer, and whatever this project was, it was amazing. Winston finished his routine with a regal bow, and as his body slowed the music did as well, holding a final note as he brought it to a close.

Quickly switching it off, Winston nearly skipped to the alcove.

“How?” Jamison said, holding back tears.

“Motion sensors track a body, and the data is converted into music in real time using complex algorithms so instead of dancing to music, music dances to you. It does have a few established routines so you can dance along to existing performances, but I mainly designed it for freestyle.” 

Jamison looked between Winston and Diva, speechless. 

“What’s even better, it’s programmed to be harmonious. No sour notes. No matter how you move, it will sound good, so whoever uses it can dance to their own beat, literally!” Winston was completely lost in the excitement of his project. Jamison could see the passion for it in his eyes.

“Can…can I use it?” he croaked. “Please?”

“Of course! The more testing we put it through the better!” Winston led Jamison back to the dial, explaining how it worked and what the settings were.

Following the instructions, Jamison carefully pulled himself to the center of the room.


	6. Duality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New beginnings, the end of an era, and that which is yet to be known.

After their pub-ed shift, Mako was ready to go home and enjoy the silence, but that wasn’t going to be an option for a long time considering the mess he’d gotten himself into. He rode to the hospital to see if Jamison was still there, but somebody else occupied the room he stayed in and Dr. dos Santos was out for the day. He tired the trailer park. Deserted.

“Must be staying with some friends,” Mako mused out loud, looking around at the ghostly emptiness of the abandoned lot. 

Mako didn’t know Jamison very well, didn’t know what kind of person he was. He wondered what could have been in that trailer, lost in the embers. Fear swelled inside him the more he thought about it. 

Mako had to stop getting himself into trouble like this. As soon as the thought popped into his head he shook it out. It was ridiculous. No, he wanted to help because he was a civil servant at heart. He wanted to help somebody who was down on their luck. 

He ignored the lonely pang in his heart and went home to change. Maybe he’d go to the bar tonight after all.

 

Lúcio felt something nagging at the back of his mind. He checked on his frogs, Heliotropic and Maximum Tempo. Helio sat buried in the substrate, patiently waiting for dinner. Lúcio smiled at the pudgy pacman frog. Max slept amongst the leaves in his vivarium. 

The humidity was perfect, he came home in time for feeding. If whatever he felt he forgot wasn’t his frogs, it could wait until after his well-deserved beauty rest. Scrubs and binder thrown haphazardly to the floor he changed into sweatpants and snuggled into the massive, downy blanket. 

Turning on some music to lull him to sleep, a song came on that reminded him of one of his old patients.  
“Talk about a blast from the past,” he chuckled, remembering her, wondering what she was doing nowadays. 

 

Mei spent the entire night making ice cream. It may be her job, but it was also her escape. Every flavor was handcrafted by her for her business, Little Pengu Ice Cream. The sun dipped out of sight and crept back up on the other side of the sky, and she mixed cream. The slow plunge to the other side of the sky came, and still she mixed. 

Sampling the coffee flavor for herself, she decided on the selections for tomorrow. With so much extra time from not sleeping she made enough to last for a week or two, plus some she planned on giving to the local fire fighters. 

They all worked so hard, and this year was exceptionally hot—as detailed by her well-lined wallet. With the year being so profitable and her truck so popular, Mei considered taking on another driver and expanding the business. 

For now though, she was happy to lug cartons of homemade ice cream by herself. 

 

Satya felt an anxious coil of dread in her stomach. The phone rang on.

The phone at work was so much easier. She knew what information to extract and relay. The goals and expectations of the conversation were clear, logical. On the other end of this shrill was a mystery. She ignored it. 

She tapped one foot in front of her, then behind. Forward, behind. The gentle impact loosened the knot in her stomach. Satya continued to tap her toes gently as she sat at her computer to check for any updates on the project she followed. Somebody was working on a motion tracking sound system that could turn any room into a personal dance studio, and she wanted it desperately. 

Twirling in the side room of her home, Satya imagined what it would be like when it was finally installed. Until then, she danced to the old classics until she was ready to sleep.

 

“Th’ man uh the hour!” McCree drawled to Mako as he shuffled into the dark, dirty bar. “Glad yeh ‘sided to join us affer all,” he slurred a little too close to Mako’s face. The stink of strong alcohol slithered into his nose, and for once he thought maybe it would be alright to get a little pissed. Just a little. Maybe not McCree pissed.

“Ready for round two yet, big guy?” Zarya beckoned Mako over as the keep gave him his drink. Skulling his beer he plopped down with a snort. Mako was in some kind of mood he couldn’t place. 

Zarya won best in three, but the last round was close. Taking a long drink of her water, Zarya grinned. 

“Not having a drink?” Mako asked, already heading back to the bar for another.

“Somebody’s got to drive these fools home,” Zarya chuckled. Fair enough. At the end of the bar Mako saw McCree talking to a woman. Somebody would be taking him home from the looks of it. 

Slapping two twenties on the pool table, Mako challenged Shimada. “Double or nothing,” he wagered. Hanzo cocked an eyebrow, but Mako could see delight shining behind his sharp eyes. With a sly smile he silently racked them up. 

“New pool buddy,” Hanzo mused as Mako put a little more force into the break than he should have. The pops and cracks across the table spun, but nothing went in. 

Hanzo swooped in, but as he took his shot something caught his eye and he looked up, nearly missing the cue ball and sending it gently swirling toward nothing in particular. Mako followed his gaze to see McCree sauntering away with the woman from the bar clinging to his arm. 

“Your turn,” Shimada grumbled, pretending to swat a stray hair away from his eyes. 

 

Reinhardt took a deep breath. Inside his deep chest he could feel his heart pounding.

“I’ll be retiring soon. I love the station, but I’m an old man, Ana.”

“I think you’ve still got some spark in you,” she grinned at him slyly. “But at the same time, it’s getting harder to keep up with my little ones.” She meant her class, but every year they were like her children. That was one of the things Reinhardt loved about Ana. She had so much room in her heart and wanted to see people grow and blossom into the best they could be. 

Their dessert came. Reinhardt gratefully sampled the cheesecake, mulling over how he was going to bring up the question he’d brought Ana on this date to ask.

Before he could speak, Ana put her hand on top of his.

“Reinhardt, I’ve been thinking about us.”

“M-me too! In fact, I wanted to ask you—“

“Hold on,” she interrupted him. “First, there’s something I need to ask you.” Ana gulped, reaching into her pocket. She smiled brilliantly as a glistening tear rolled down her face. In her hand she held a small black box.

“Reinhardt, will you marry me?”

**Author's Note:**

> [Support the Author!](https://ko-fi.com/A071KA4)


End file.
